


the anatomy of a joke

by crescenteluce



Series: you remember me (and i'll remember you) [1]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-12-13 19:57:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21003317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crescenteluce/pseuds/crescenteluce
Summary: He trails off and Bev raises an eyebrow. ‘So, you being in bed together fits in there how exactly?’‘No, Jesus, Bev.’ Eddie says and Richie, horrifyingly, feels his cheeks heat under Bev’s suspicious look. Something needs to be done, so he plucks Eddie’s phone from his hands.‘I am appalled by your implications, Beverly.’ He says sternly, trying to ignore the blood still not quite done rushing to his face. ‘I would have you know that I’d never defile Eddie like that, the poor man’s 40 year old and still a virgin and if I’d have the honor of-’He’s cut off by Eddie trying to wrestle the phone away from him as Bev cackles delightedly.





	the anatomy of a joke

The joke goes something like this:  
  
Man walks into a bar and sits down. Says: ‘Barkeep, I went to my hometown where my friends and I defeated a space clown, but it didn’t fix the sadness that’s been inside me for 27 years. I watched my childhood love get knocked out and dragged his body out of the house to the car, after which I cried on him and clung to his shirt to keep him awake until he got to a hospital and then he made me drive him to the airport because he had to quote unquote get some things sorted out and just before he left he put his hand on my face for a second, but I didn’t say anything then and now I just watch his rare messages in the group chat for minutes on end and somehow I feel like, even though we forgot each other for so long, we’re even further apart than we were during all those earlier years.’  
  
‘Ah,’ the bartender says. ‘Is that why you got the, uh, long face?’

‘Oh no,’ the man responds. ‘That’s just because I’m a horse.’

* * *

When Richie leaves his house around 4 p.m. for a bagel, he almost walks past the sad man sitting on a bench with his head in his hands and bags all around him. The stench of mid-life crisis is hitting him all the way from across the sidewalk and he’s way too busy alternating bouts of traumatized binge drinking with giddily jerking off to gay porn he didn’t let himself watch for 27 years to even begin considering lifting a hand to help his fellow man. Then the man on the bench moves his hand from his cheek to pinch the bridge of his nose and Richie freezes, eyes locked on a thin scar the size of a paperclip, still pink and raw in the middle. 

‘Eddie?’

The man looks up and sure as hell, it’s little Eddie Kaspbrak sitting in front of his house looking like a man who once, in a distant past, may have gotten eight hours of sleep. Still, when Richie looks at him, he feels his heart leap with joy, which is fucking stupid, because he’s a forty year old man. He feels momentarily guilty for not recognizing Eddie immediately, but in his defense, he celebrated noon by downing two glasses of bourbon and a deep dive into the rimming tag on Pornhub. 

‘I’ve been here since fucking _ eight a.m. _ , asshole!’ Are the first words out of Eddie’s mouth and Richie cringes at the volume. ‘ _ Why is your fucking phone off _? Don’t you ever leave your fucking house? I’ve rang every fucking bell on the block twice because you couldn’t be fucked to add a fucking house number! And what the fuck are you wearing? You look like shit.’ 

‘Uh, yeah, no shit, Eds.' Richie puts his hands on his hips and then promptly stops doing that because he immediately realises it makes him look like an angry housewife. 'I’m trying to drink away memories of almost dying by the hand of an alien. What’s your excuse? You look like you wife divorced you and your secretary dumped you on the same day.’ 

Eddies eyes widen like they do when he’s about to go on a rant and he even raises his hand a little, undoubtedly to swipe it in front of his face during a very nasty and dramatic insult, but from one moment to the next, all the energy drains out of him and he’s just left with a mildly sour look on his face. 

‘Yeah, that’s about it.’

‘What?’ Richie sputters. ‘You were having an affair-’

‘No, you fucking asshole,’ Eddie interrupts, and his whole face scrunches up. ‘I got a divorce.’ 

‘Oh.’ Richie didn’t see that one coming. He opens his mouth and closes it, then opening it again before thinking better of it once more. 

‘What, no wife joke?’ Eddie spits at him. ‘Some sad excuse for a comedian you are.’ 

‘I’m sorry, Eds.’ Richie means it. For all that he spent the entire time in Derry slagging off Eddie’s wife, some part of him had been glad that Eddie wouldn’t be going home to a lonely, empty house. 

‘Well, I’m not.’ Eddie says. ‘She was terrible to me and I was terrible to her and we’re better off apart.’ He actually raises his chin defiantly while he says it and Richie has to dig his nails into his palms to stop himself from reaching out to squish his cheeks. They stare at each other for a fraction and while Richie is still willing his heart (and his dick) to stop reacting to Eddie’s lips twitching into a half-smile, Eddie starts gathering his bags and shouldering his way past Richie. 

‘Uh, Eds? What are you-?’  
  
‘I need a place to stay.’ Eddie calls back over his shoulder, already dragging his gigantic suitcase into Richie’s living room. ‘Bill has a wife, Mike is still house hunting and Ben and Bev are somewhere in the Bahamas.’ 

‘Well, thanks for thinking of me dead last.’ Richie crosses his arms and Eddie rolls his eyes at him.

‘I just meant you live alone in a ginormous house.’ He gestures at Richie to grab the bags still on the front step. ‘Also, the others have shit to do and you’re, what? Getting drunk every day, jerking off and not writing your own material? How close am I?’ 

Richie turns around and starts dragging in the last suitcase, just so Eddie can’t see the sour look on his face. It’s true, but that doesn’t mean he has to see the look of satisfaction on Eddie’s smug face. 

They load in the bags and set Eddie up in one of the guest bedrooms. Richie stays around to help unpack, mostly to watch the pinched look on Eddie’s face every time he sees something that doesn’t live up to his insane standards of cleanliness. He actually does have a cleaning lady that comes by every week, but she’s not much of a perfectionist and every time he tries bringing it up she yells at him in Macedonian. It’ll probably be at most six hours before Eddie’s thin veneer of politeness wears off and he’ll be scrubbing the baseboard with a toothbrush. 

Richie figures it’s not exactly considered classy to insult a man on the day he officially divorces his wife, so he racks his brain for normal ways to start a conversation that doesn’t result in either screaming (usually Eddie) or hysterical laughter (usually Richie). It comes out stilted and awkward and Eddie only vaguely responds, his mind clearly somewhere else altogether. They order Indian takeaway that Eddie picks at dubiously and watch an episode of Dr. Phil in silence until Richie feels like he can’t take another second of it before going absolutely apeshit.

‘Look, Eds.’ The glare Eddie manages at the nickname is a good sign, but the lack of a pointed finger and annoyed shriek means he’s still not even close to being himself. ‘I don’t know how to do this shit. It’s not that I don’t want to try, it’s just that I don’t even have a clue where to begin. You probably would’ve been better of with Bill or Ben or anyone who has, I don’t know, a functioning set of manners and social skills.’ 

‘It’s fine, I’m just-’

‘No, look. It’s not fine. I’m sorry, but let’s just call it a night, get our eight hours in and tomorrow, when I’m not half drunk and better prepared, I’m going to emotionally support you so hard, you won’t even remember you spent your prime years married to an exact clone of your mother.’ 

‘Oh, yeah,’ Eddie says sarcastically, ‘that’s a great start, man. Feeling really supported here.’ 

‘Starting tomorrow.’ Richie replies to him in a sing-song voice as he picks up the takeaway containers to throw them out. ‘Starting tomorrow, I’ll be the Gayle to your Oprah, baby.’ 

* * *

True to Richie’s word, they go to bed early, but even from beyond the grave, Pennywise manages to fuck up his good intentions. Richie wakes up in the middle of the night and waits for the remnants of a nightmare to slip from his mind while rubbing his arms to remind himself that he’s whole, alive and - notwithstanding the mental toll of being terrorized by a space clown, being deeply closeted for forty years and feeling like a professional failure - healthy. Just when he’s preparing for another hour or two staring at the ceiling, he hears a clatter of noise downstairs and decides to go join Eddie in his nighttime adventures. He quietly pads downstairs on bare feet and is rewarded by the sight of Eddie in actual _ flannel _ pajamas, seemingly having taken out every drinking glass from Richie’s cupboard to scrub them rigorously before dunking them in a steaming hot water bath. His watch says it’s 2 a.m., which means Eddie managed to exist in what he undoubtedly considers Richie’s den of filth for many more hours than Richie expected. 

‘You made it 10 hours, not bad, Eds.’ He says and Eddie nearly drops the glass he’s drying. 

‘Who’s, wha-? Richie? Why are you up? 10 hours of what?’ He looks awful, with dark rings around his tired eyes, and a manic energy in the way he’s scraping the dish towel against the rim of the glass. His nails are as clean and neatly clipped as they always are, but the sides of his thumbs look raw, like he’s been dragging his nails against them nervously. Richie is struck with the urge to grab his hands and hold them until Eddie falls asleep, but instead he balls up his hands into fists and sticks them in the pockets of his sweatpants. 

‘I mean - Nevermind.’ Eddie blinks at him with his big eyes, that usually look either doe-like or coked out, depending on how many expletives he’s flinging out at any given time and Richie figures that if neither of them is going to sleep, they might as well make good of it, like old times. 

‘Come on up, Eduardo. It’s not Dragon Warrior III, but I have Borderlands 2 and I’m willing to carry your ass like I always did.’ 

‘Hey, fuck you.’ Eddie retorts hotly and Richie quietly delights at the intensity. It used to be his greatest talents, snapping Eddie out of a neurotic cycle by insulting his mother or doing a Voice until Eddie forgot what he was worried about in lieu of yelling at Richie at the top of his lungs. ‘You were just hacking your way through and if I hadn’t read the instructions we’d still have been stuck in fucking Baharata.’ 

‘Oh, no, the _ instructions _ .’ Richie repeats to him in a solemn voice. ‘You didn’t manage to kill a single Kandar for the entire year we played that game, but sure, we’d been _ lost _ without your _ instructions _.’ 

As he turns back to go back upstairs, Eddie is hot on his heels, bitching and gesturing wildly about Zoma and Rain Staffs and other shit Richie hasn’t thought about for 25 years, but Eddie apparently remembers in extreme detail. They settle down on top of Richie’s mess of blankets, still bickering as Richie fires up his PS4 and throws him a controller. The bickering turns to actual yelling as soon as Eddie realises Richie is not even bothering protecting or reviving him and his character dies four times in the span of ten minutes. Eddie is halfway through a devastating insult about Richie’s general lack of anything remotely resembling humanity when his phone goes off and Ben’s picture appears on the screen. 

‘Oh Eds, let’s ask Ben if he also thinks there’s a small dead animal in my chest cavity where a heart should be.’ Richie says, slapping Eddie’s hands away and he answers the phone before he even thinks about it. The moment Ben and Bev’s faces appear on the screen, he realises what he’s doing and drops the phone immediately. 

‘Richie?’ Ben’s tinny voice sounds from between the blankets. ‘Is that- Eddie? Are you with Richie?’

‘Uh.’ Eddie says, picking up the phone. ‘Yeah?’  
  
‘That’s nice.’ Ben says, sounding warm and friendly, before Bev shoves him out of the way to get her face in front of the camera. ‘Why? Is that… Are you guys in _ bed _together?’ 

She sounds so delighted that it makes Richie cringe. From the corner of his eyes, he sees Eddie give him a glare that would’ve disintegrated many a lesser man right on the spot. 

‘It’s not-’ Eddie starts, but then he stops and realises he probably has to start a little while back. ‘I went back to New York and got a divorce.’ 

‘Oh, Eddie, I’m so sorry.’ Ben says and Bev gives him a little sideways glance, equal parts fond and disbelieving. 

‘No, it’s not… It’s a good thing. But anyway, I got all my stuff today and I realised I wanted… I figured I should probably leave the city for at least a while and well, Richie’s got a big house and all, so…’  
  
He trails off and Bev raises an eyebrow. ‘So, you being in bed together fits in there how exactly?’ 

‘No, Jesus, Bev.’ Eddie says and Richie, horrifyingly, feels his cheeks heat under Bev’s suspicious look. Something needs to be done, so he plucks Eddie’s phone from his hands.  
  
‘I am appalled by your implications, Beverly.’ He says sternly, trying to ignore the blood still not quite done rushing to his face. ‘I would have you know that I’d never defile Eddie like that, the poor man’s 40 year old and still a virgin and if I’d have the honor of-’  
  
He’s cut off by Eddie trying to wrestle the phone away from him as Bev cackles delightedly.

‘Richie, you fucking asshole, give it-’

‘Ow, Jesus, fuck, Eds, get your elbow out of my kidneys or-’

‘I’ll fucking disembowel you with a toothbrush unless you give me my fucking phone back, I swear-’

‘Guys!’ Ben cuts in, trying to sound of authoritarian, but he’s also laughing. ‘Guys, please, can you, for one second-’

‘You know they can’t, honey.’ Bev pipes up, but her tone is affectionate. ‘Hey, Eddie, we just wanted to check in on you, because you kind of fell off the radar in the past weeks.'

‘Yeah,’ Eddie responds, when he’s finally elbowed Richie in the sternum hard enough to grab his phone back. ‘Sorry, I just wanted to get everything over with before I… Well, it’s not going to be like that from now on.’ 

‘Don’t be a stranger, Eddie.’ Ben says and the warmth that radiates off him is almost palpable through the screen. ‘We love you.’ 

‘Yeah,’ Eddie rubs the back of his neck self-consciously. ‘I love you guys too.’ 

‘You too, Richie.’ Bev adds on, leaning against Ben. ‘We love you too.’ 

‘Aw, thanks.’ Richie responds. ‘Now please get your puppy love out of my face, I can’t stand the sight of you two gorgeous idiots drooling over each other for another second.’ 

Bev’s middle finger is the last image on the screen before Ben disconnects and Richie settles down against his pillow, his heart feeling so full it’s manifesting a lump in his throat. Next to him, Eddie’s scooting around, preparing to go back to his own room, but Richie’s stomach turns at the idea of them being alone again in this big house.

‘You can-’ He clears his throat. ‘You can stay if you want? Old-fashioned sleepover?’

Eddie looks at him for a moment and Richie doesn’t know what his expression means. Once, he used to be a master in decoding all the twitches of Eddie’s lips and the lines between his eyes, but as much as Eddie has stayed his familiar self in the last 27 years, he’s also changed in ways that Richie doesn’t yet fully comprehend. He feels like he should be sadder about that, somehow, but there’s something that excites him about the idea of deciphering Eddie once more. A challenge, maybe, if Eddie’ll let him. 

The sudden righting of Eddie’s shoulders when he’s weighed his options and come to a decision, though, that one he still remembers. ‘Yeah, okay.’ Eddie responds and slides between his covers. It takes him a while to get comfortable and Richie listens to the rustling of the sheets. When he finally settles in, the weight of another body on his mattress, the lingering fondness over Ben and Bev and the soft sounds of Eddie’s slowing breaths help Richie fall asleep in an instant. 

* * *

Richie wakes up the closest thing to well-rested that’s attainable for someone with his pre-bed BAC. Next to him, Eddie is curled up like a pillbug, his face almost entirely disappearing in the pillow he’s clutching tightly. He doesn’t snore exactly, but he makes little noises every now and then, sniffling or something that sounds like a mumble. Richie thinks he could get used to this, a continuous reminder that Eddie’s warm body is soundly asleep next to him. Eddie’s knee is touching Richie’s hip lightly and for a moment he considers the contact, before rolling away with a sigh and getting up to lock himself in the adjoining bathroom. A cold shower and a firm lecture to his nether regions later, he walks out and sees Eddie sitting up in bed, blearily looking around and taking in his surroundings. 

‘Don’t worry, Eds.’ Richie says helpfully. ‘We didn’t do any touching beneath the waist, you can still wear white at your next wedding.’ 

‘Very nice.’ Eddie says through a yawn. ‘That emotional support is really one of your strong suits, almost as strong as writing your own stand-up.’ 

‘Oof, Eds, so grumpy in the morning. You want cereal from either a dirty bowl or a clean mug, or you wanna go out for breakfast?’

‘How ever will I choose,’ Eddie says, scratching at his collarbone under his flannel shirt, and Richie purposely avoids looking at the exposed skin, feeling like a Victorian-era pervert. ‘Anything good around here?’

‘About thirty food trucks and one good sit-down place. Get a move on, Eddie, jeez, I’m already carpe dieming this bitch and you’re still lazing around in bed.’ 

Richie savours the withering glare Eddie sends him on his way out of the room, defanged slightly by the fact there’s still crusty bits in the corners of his eyes and a pillow crease running over his entire cheek.

When they get a table, Eddie wipes off the laminated menu with a wet wipe he procured from god knows where, before scouring it anxiously. 

'Do they have anything here that's gluten free and doesn't have soy or dairy or - hey!' 

Richie rolls his eyes as he plucks the menu from Eddie's hands. 

'You're not fucking allergic to any of that, idiot.' He tells Eddie as he waves at Tamar, the waitress who usually opens the place. ‘We ate all kinds of garbage when we were kids and you never died.’ 

‘Hiya Richie, can I get you anything?’ Tamar asks him, giving Eddie, who’s still sputtering protests, a doubtful look. 

‘Yes, please. I’d like a coffee and a club sandwich and my friend here would like,’ He pauses, giving Eddie a thoughtful glance. ‘Wholegrain spelt avocado toast with a poached egg and basil dressing. Thanks, dear.’

Eddie opens his mouth, but considers for a second and closes it again, apparently unable to scathingly object to this, by all measures, very inoffensive meal. He does however, finds it in him to vehemently object to Richie purposefully chewing with his mouth wide open after their food arrives. 

‘That’s fucking disgusting, you animal.’ Eddie hisses at him loud enough to make heads around them turn around. 

‘It’s good for the aeration of the food.’ Richie makes sure bits of bacon land on the table as he says it. ‘Just like they do with wine.’

‘Do you have any idea how many germs are in a human mouth?’ Eddie’s eyes are so wide that he looks like he should be on many, many medications to be allowed outside. ‘If I get mono from your revolting eating habits I’ll fucking kill you in your sleep.’ 

‘Everything alright here?’ Tamar appears at their table, looking very much like a woman who doesn’t care what they do unless they burn the place down, but was just told by her manager to go tamp down the psychos at table three. 

‘We’re peachy, Tamar, thank you.’ Richie’s sure he sounds positively dreamy. ‘Did you know there’s more germs in a human mouth than in the average public bathroom?’

‘I’m not sure that’s true.’ Tamar responds just as Eddie says ‘Shut the _ fuck _up, Richie.’ 

Richie grins at him and Eddie sends back a look that implies only the laws of men are holding him back from strangling Richie right then and there. _ I missed you _ , Richie thinks, and then: _ I love you so much. _Oh. Right. As soon as the memory of his unfortunate childhood crush came rushing back in, Richie had resolved to actively repress that knowledge some more until he’d be able to deal with it like an adult. As a sensible forty year old, he’d then dealt with it by getting very drunk every time he was reminded of it for three weeks. After that, he figured he’d probably only see Eddie at the occasional Losers hangout and would surely get over it at some point. Right now, though, arguing with Eddie so easily it feels like second nature, he guesses the chances of him ever not being in love with Eddie are rapidly approaching zero. 

‘Yeah, okay.’ Tamar interrupts his train of thought and Richie inwardly cringes at Eddie’s raised eyebrows. ‘I honestly couldn’t care less, but my manager thinks it’s best if you just -’ She makes a small hand gesture. ‘Skedaddle. You want something on your way out?’

‘You got some waffles?’ Eddie makes a protesting noise and Richie waves him off with an eye roll. ‘And put in, I don’t know, a fruit salad or some shit.’

Tamar cheerily waves him out, undoubtedly because Richie is actually her favourite customer and not because he left a 50% tip. 

* * *

Turns out Eddie is actually allergic to kiwi. It's not life-threatening in any way, but it makes his throat scratchy and his cheeks break out and he doesn't stop bitching about it for literal hours. 

‘Well,’ Richie supplies helpfully as Eddie stews inside a blanket he’s wrapped around his entire body, leaving only his face uncovered, which then has the side effect of making him look like a very angry strawberry. ‘We did actually eat remarkably little fruit as kids, it’s a wonder none of us got scurvy.’

Eddie huffs from the couch, then sighs and apparently decides to get over himself. 

‘Stan and I always put gummy vitamins in your sandwiches.’ Eddie explains, smiling a little despite himself. ‘We figured that you ate so quickly you probably wouldn’t notice.’

‘You sneaky little fuckers.’ Richie says affectionately. ‘What else you two get up to?

‘If the smell got really bad, I’d distract you when we jumped in the quarry and Stan would switch out your socks for clean ones. We usually threw the dirty ones away, but one time we tried burning them and Stan threw up.’ There’s a softness in Eddie’s face when he remembers the story and as much as Richie loves Eddie’s fire when he’s yelling indignantly, the urge to reach out and pull him close when he looks this gentle is so acute Richie has to curl his fingers around his coffee mug tight enough he’s afraid he’ll break it. 

‘Tell me more, Eds, what shenanigans did you and Stan pull to endure my horrendous presence.’ 

‘One time, Stan took you out to the arcade and I picked up all your dirty clothes, cleaned your room and put everything back on the floor.’ 

‘That’s the most amazing and neurotic thing you’ve ever said.’ Richie tells him, ‘you cunning little rascal, I had no idea.’ 

‘And the time after-’ Eddie pauses, clears his throat and looks down at his lap, avoiding Richie’s eyes. ‘After the first time we defeated Pennywise, I’d sneak into your room at night and pretend I wanted to sleep over because I had nightmares, but I actually went over because you looked so tired all the time and I was afraid you’d die of sleep deprivation.’ 

‘Oh.’ Richie feels the tips of his ears burn, because he remembers, the long, awful nights wondering whether It would come back to finish the job. Some nights, he’d dream about Pennywise turning up in his bedroom to gnaw on his legs, but other nights, he’d go out to find Bill, Mike, Eddie, Bev in his front yard, dead eyed and torn to pieces. The nights Eddie showed up were usually good ones, and if he did have a nightmare, he’d reach out to grasp Eddie’s warm wrist and feel his heartbeat until he fell back asleep. By then, he’d more or less accepted that his crush wasn’t going to blow over in a few months. Mostly, he tried not thinking about it too much, but sometimes, he’d let himself imagine some kind of vague future, maybe at college, where he’d tell Eddie and Eddie would not be repulsed by it. He’d think about the other Losers teasing them, but he wouldn’t care, because they’d bicker like old times, only now Eddie would yell at him while holding his hand under the table. 

Because he’s a coward, he doesn’t tell Eddie any of this and responds ‘I really miss Stan.’ 

‘Yeah,’ Eddie says, ‘me too.’ 

* * *

Maybe the joke goes like this: Man goes to a doctor and says ‘Doctor, I feel selfish because I’ve been happier than I’ve been, well, maybe ever, since Eddie’s gotten here, but still I want more more more and if I tell him and he doesn’t want the same, what am I going to do then? I barely lived when I couldn’t even remember him and I can’t bear the thought of knowing he’s out there and we’re not talking, not because of some clown or magic, but just because I couldn’t settle for him being here and happy and safe. How do I fix this longing inside of me, doctor? How do I unwant?’

‘Alright,’ the doctor says. ‘What I always do when I feel down, I go see the clown Pagliacci. He’s not funny and doesn’t write his own material, but at least it cheers me up to see I’m not the saddest motherfucker in town.’

‘But doctor,’ the man says. ‘I am the clown Pagliacci.’ 

‘Yeah,’ the doctor responds. ‘I know what I said.’ 

* * *

Two weeks later, they’ve found an equilibrium that most people would call a deeply dysfunctional situation requiring multiple years of intensive therapy, but actually borders the closest thing to domestic bliss that either of them has ever experienced. Richie is considering whether he’d rather skip scrubbing the kitchen island after his breakfast or the lecture Eddie is going to give him about cross contamination later, when Bill calls him. 

‘Big Bill!’ Richie puts the phone on speaker while wrestling an antibacterial wipe from Eddie’s substantial stash. ‘To what do I owe the pleasure?’

‘Ben c-called me today about this weekend, when we’re all gonna be meeting a-at his beach house and asked me whether I thought Eddie and you f-forgot about it, because you didn’t m-mention it once in the last f-five times you spoke, but I assured him you t-two not only didn’t forget, b-but were very excited to see everyone.’ 

‘Uh.’ Richie responds, scrambling for his iPad, where he sees a completely empty agenda for the weekend. Then he notices he accidentally unlinked his private calendar from his work calendar and when he rechecks the box, BEACH HOUSE WEEKEND appears in big fat letters. ‘You are completely right and when you see Ben this weekend, at the beach house weekend I did not forget about, you should tell him he’s a terrible person for having so little faith in me.’

‘T-that’s what I thought.’ Bill says and Richie can almost hear him smile through the phone. ‘I’ll text y-you the address. We’re meeting Friday, at f-five.’ 

There’s actually suspiciously little in his calendar he has to move around. Ever since Eddie arrived, Richie realises, he’s been turning down invitations to parties he’d usually go to as an acceptable starting point for returning home buzzed and moving on to getting blackout drunk on his couch. He wonders if he’s finally becoming boring and then thinks forty is probably not a bad age to reduce the amount of days in the week he’s snorting coke with other Hollywood almost-beens at shady house parties. 

His phone buzzes with a location pin, interrupting this very depressing train of thoughts, and Richie figures it’ll be a four hour ride with Eddie driving and maybe three when he’s behind the wheel, with the added bonus of Eddie grasping the dashboard with white knuckles at every lane change. He decides to subtract ‘your car is a pigsty’ from the potential list of arguments, leaving only ‘you drive like a maniac’, ‘you use the lights to _ indicate _ you are _ going to make a turn _ , not to indicate you are _ making a turn right this second _’ and literally every other topic known to mankind and picks up his keys to go to the carwash. He pays extra for the premium gold package and while a man is going to town on his hubcaps with a toothbrush, he spots a flyer for a deep cleaning service and figures, what the hell, might as well go all the way. On the way back, he comes to an agreement with a very chipper young woman that he’ll leave a truly exorbitant tip if she can guarantee he’ll find not a single bacteria in his dishwasher when he gets back. Eddie’s back from his run and freshly showered and changed when he comes in, sitting at the kitchen island reading the LA Times. 

‘I got the car cleaned.’ Richie informs him, pouring himself a mug of coffee from the pot Eddie made and sitting down to scroll through Twitter for a leisurely hour or two. ‘I figured that since we’ll be driving a long way to Ben’s beach house this weekend, you’d prefer not sitting in my In-n-Out wrapper shrine.’ 

Eddie’s hand freezes halfway through turning the page of his paper and Richie grins, raising the mug to his lips. ‘Uh.’ Eddie says, before he recovers his composure. ‘The beach house weekend. Of course. Good call.’ 

‘I also called a cleaning crew, while I was at it and the girl promised me that if I paid her a truly exorbitant sum of money, we’d be getting back to a house that we could, if the situation called for it, perform open-heart surgery in.’ 

‘Okay.’ Eddie says, in a strange voice. Richie is already halfway down a Twitter thread about dogs with raincoats on when he notices the crinkling has stopped. As he looks up, Eddie is watching him intently.

‘You did -’ He clears his throat and tries again. ‘You called a cleaning crew?’

‘Huh?’ Richie blinks, a little befuddled by the intensity Eddie’s looking at him with. ‘I mean, just some kind of deep clean service? I figured it’d be a good time, since we’re both out of the house for three days.’

‘It’s your house, dude.’ Eddie responds, rubbing a piece of the paper nervously between his fingers. ‘I know I’m kind of particular about this sort of thing, but you don’t have to cater to...’ He trails off and Richie realises the ink is going to stain his fingers and then his crisp light blue polo is going to be in grave danger. 

‘I honestly don’t care.’ He says as he gets up and picks up a flannel to run it under the tap. ‘I actually kind of like that my underwear is ironed now. Makes me feel dapper in the morning, Eds.’ 

‘Don’t call me Eds.’ Eddie responds automatically and then looks questioningly at the flannel Richie hands him. 

‘For the ink.’ Richie waves vaguely at Eddie’s hand and sits back down. ‘I’m just saying, you should feel at home here. Mi casa es su casa, Eduardo, and if you want to make it official, I can like, draw up a lease and make you pay rent. A dollar a month and a legal promise that you’ll stop bitching about the cups I leave around the house.’

‘I’d literally rather die than live in that kind of squalor.’ Eddie snorts, but the tips of his ears are burning red and he’s concentrating awfully hard on rubbing his fingers clean. Richie isn’t sure what it means, but he makes a mental note to call the cleaning crew lady about setting up a recurring appointment. 

* * *

They’re on the road for ten minutes when Richie squeezes the car between two others in the middle lane without touching his blinkers and Eddie’s holding on to the ceiling hand grip with both hands. 

‘You drive like a fucking maniac.’ He hisses between clenched teeth and Richie frowns at a road sign before realising he’s on an exit lane and swinging his car back onto the freeway. ‘Pull over right fucking now, I’m driving.’ 

‘I thought you might want to take a nap, relax a little.’ Richie responds, manoeuvring himself on the far left lane and hitting the gas in a way that makes Eddie pale a little. ‘Let me do the hard work.’ 

‘I swear to God, Richie, if you don’t pull over right now, I’ll leave you at a fucking gas station first chance I get.’ 

‘Well, we can’t stop now, Eds, we’ve only been driving for ten minutes. Change at the halfway point? We can hit it in like, 45 minutes if you stop bitching about road safety for a second.’

Another ten minutes later, Richie is in the passenger seat, clutching a small bucket of gas station coffee in one hand and texting Ben they’ll be late with the other while Eddie is sitting up straight behind the wheel, hands at ten and two exactly. He’s checking rearview mirror - side mirror - window with such precise intervals, Richie wonders if he has a timer lodged in his brain. 

‘Can you talk while driving?’ Richie asks curiously. ‘Or is that like swearing in risk analyst church?’ 

‘It’s not recommended.’ Eddie responds, eyes on the road. ‘But I’m not sure there’s any force in the world that could stop you from talking.’ 

‘Probably true.’ Richie concedes. ‘Are you ever going to go back to analyzing risks? Because there’s a lot of them in LA, if you want to stay here.’ 

Eddie considers for a moment. ‘I cashed in some stock last week and I got some medium term treasury bonds-’ He glances sideways, just in time to see Richie’s eyes glaze over. ‘Anyway, I have enough cash on hand to live comfortably for a year or two. After that, I’m not sure.’ 

He’s silent for a second and then chuckles. ‘Can’t believe I’m actually not that worried about it. I should be, I guess, but it’s just… I nearly got eaten by a clown from space, divorced my wife, moved across the country. Puts things in perspective, I guess.’ 

‘I’m proud of you, Eds.’ Richie says and he’s shooting for light-hearted, but to his mortification, his voice comes out so achingly sincere that Eddie glances at him again, before quickly turning his eyes on the road again, a small, satisfied twitch at the corner of his mouth. Richie looks at his shy contentment, his steady hands sure on the wheel and wants him so severely it makes his stomach curl with longing. His hands itch with the need to reach out and put his thumb on Eddie’s cheek, fitting it over the scar he knows is on the other side of Eddie’s face, but instead he bites the inside of his cheek hard enough that it aches.

Three and a half hours later, after seamlessly transitioning between arguing, actually arguing, nostalgic retrieving of memories, a very in-depth discussion about European league soccer and then actually arguing again when Richie’s phone falls off the dashboard next to Eddie’s feet and Richie sticks his entire upper body in the space next to Eddie’s legs to retrieve it, they arrive at Ben’s beach house, a good forty five minutes after the agreed upon time.

‘I’m not sure I’m allowed to park here.’ Eddie says nervously at the same time as Richie says ‘Look at _ that _fucking house. How rich is Ben exactly?’

‘I’m going to put the car somewhere further down the road.’ Eddie says, but Richie is already getting out. 

‘No way you’re going to leave me here dragging your twenty bags in, Eduardo. The parking spot is fine, let’s go.’ 

When they get in, they’re welcomed by the loud cheers of four people who got in early and already cracked open a bottle or two. Bev greets them with a two outstretched arms, trapping Richie and Eddie in an awkward three way hug only one person is truly participating him. When Richie steps aside, he can still feel the line of heat Eddie left down the right side of his body and tries to act casual about it. 

‘Show me where I can put this so I start getting on your level, Boozerly.’ He tells Bev, just as Eddie says ‘Okay, the bags are in, I’m going to put the car somewhere else.’ 

‘Boo, Eds.’ Richie says, but he figures he has to pick his battles. ‘Go on, I’ll take your bags.’ 

Bev takes one of the suitcases and Richie gathers up the rest of Eddie’s luggage. ‘There’s a room with two singles down here,’ she indicates at the start of the hall, ‘but the one at the end has a queen bed. Hey, have you been writing again? I know you said you were thinking about it, last time we spoke.’ 

‘Nope, haven’t had the opportunity to sit down for it.’ Richie lies through his teeth and quickly lengthens his step to reach the door before she can respond. 

‘Oh, _ nice. _’ They step into an airy back room, and he flings his bag onto the bed. ‘Dibs on this one. Eddie can go in the single.’ 

When he turns around, Bev is giving him a strange look. ‘Ugh, okay, _ fine _ . I’ll take the single. Even though Eddie doesn’t need the extra space, _ at all _.’

He picks up his bag, leaving Eddie’s stuff and makes his way to the other room, where he drops his bag off and turns to see Bev has followed him, still frowning. 

‘Are you guys taking it slow or something?’ She asks and Richie frowns back. ‘Huh?’

‘Or, I mean, you don’t have to tell us, that’s okay, but we already know, so don’t hide it on our account.’

‘Hide what?’ Richie’s palms are getting a little sweaty, so he sits down on the bed, taking out his shirts one by one to keep his hands busy. ‘How drunk are you exactly?’

She looks at him with a bewildered look, and then, suddenly, it seems to click. 

‘So, wait, you’re not together?’

‘Who are you-’

‘You and Eddie! You’re not-’

‘No?’ Richie feels a little panicky. ‘What gave you the idea that there’s anything-’

‘Oh _ please! _ ’ Bev kicks the door closed before turning on him again. ‘Are you saying you _ still _ haven’t said _ anything _?’ 

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Bev!’ Richie shouts back, like a fucking hypocrite. ‘I don’t know why you’re mad at me all of a sudden.’

'I'm not mad at you,' Bev responds immediately and Richie feels relieved, but she also yelled those words at him, so he figures he's not completely in the clear. 'I'm- It's just, I'm mad _ for _you.'

Richie opens his mouth and is preemptively shut up by Bev raising a warning finger at him. 'No, not like that, dickwad.' 

She’s pacing between the beds, six steps one way and then six steps back, while Richie sits on the comforter and feels like he’s thirteen again. 

‘I love you, Richie, and it’s fucking shitty to see a person I care for not making a single effort to make himself happy!’ 

Oof. ‘Well, don’t mince your words, Bev.’ 

She glares at him in response. ‘You’re so talented with words and you’re not writing your own stuff! You have friends who would die for you and you’re too afraid to tell us you’re not straight! And Eddie ran to you after his divorce, moved _ across the country _ to live with you, but you can’t even tell him you’re in love with him. And that’s fine! All of that would be fine if you’re not ready, or if you just didn’t want to, but that’s not the case! You’re keeping yourself unhappy, for no fucking reason at all!’

The silence in the room is deafening for a second, then Bev claps her hands in front of her mouth and looks immediately mortified. ‘Oh my god, Richie-’ she says and Richie raises his hand. 

‘No, no, don’t apologize. You’re right.’ He lets his head fall back against the wall and presses his eyes shut. ‘You were very mean about it, but you’re right.’ 

He stands up and drops his half-empty bag on the floor, before walking out. Bev stops him in the doorway, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder. 

‘I’m sorry for yelling at you, though.’ She says. ‘It’s not easy, and it’s okay to be afraid. I just wish I could help you, because I see it’s eating at you.’ 

As they make their way back to the kitchen, they happen upon Ben, who is studying the box of pasta in his hands so intently it looks like he’s expecting to get quizzed on it later. 

‘Dude, please.’ Richie makes his way to the fridge and pours himself a glass of wine. ‘This place has thin walls and Bev was yelling very loudly.’ 

Then his stomach sinks. ‘Did Eddie-?’

‘Eddie’s still parking the car.’ Ben says and stops putting away groceries to put a comforting hand on Richie’s arm. ‘I don’t think the other two heard either.’

Richie sits down at the kitchen table and rubs his temples for a second, before downing his glass of wine, which gets refilled immediately by Bev.

‘Do any of you feel like you have an unhealthy relationship with alcohol?’ He asks and Bev and Ben both shrug.

‘I have an unhealthy relationship with all things food-related.’ Ben says and Bev replies ‘I figured that’s more or less the least of my problems.’ 

‘Fair enough.’ Richie clinks his wine glass against Bev’s. ‘Anything I can do to help?’ 

Ben makes him clean mushrooms and orders Bev to chop parsley and within minutes after Eddie returns, all the others have also crammed themselves at the table. There's a roomy L shaped couch in the same room, but it feels better like this, thighs pressed together and elbows knocking. They’re a pretty codependent group, Richie thinks, with the group chat, the constant video calls and now the visits. Mike has hinted that he’s been looking at small farms in the Riverside area next to LA and he’s pretty sure that Ben and Bev spend more time at this beach house than either of their actual houses. He thinks of Bill, dropping by at him and Eddie’s to get their opinion on his latest draft and thinks of Mike, calling in halfway during a road trip to some town in Buttfuck, Missouri, to blabber about the raw beauty of middle America. It’s looking more and more that within two months, all of them will have uprooted their lives in some form or way, like stars that once collided and now gravitate back to each other, slowly rediscovering the atoms they left on one another. Richie feels himself getting a little choked up, having this little family here, bickering about the right way to fry pancetta and maybe Bev was right. He searches her out and sees her doubled over in laughter against Eddie, who’s gesturing wildly at Mike with one hand, keeping his other arm still so Bev can bury her face in his shoulder. Well, no time like the present. 

'Dearly beloved,' Richie bellows and the chatter at the table stops. 'I'd like to make an announcement. I want to formally make my apologies to Eddie's mom - may she rest in peace -, because every time I was boning her, I was actually thinking about Bill's dad.' 

When he looks at the group, Bill has buried his face in his palms and Eddie’s eyebrows are so high up they look like they’ve fused with his hairline. 

'I'm gay.' He clarifies. 'Sorry, Bev, I know you were itching to get on this ride.' 

'I'll find a way to deal.' She responds dryly, but then she raises her glass at him with a smile. 

The other Losers are suspiciously silent and Richie sees Bill trying to hide a laugh into his sleeve until Mike elbows him. 

'Thank you for telling us, Richie.' He says. 'It's very brave that you-' 

'Don't bother, you sanctimonious asshole.' Richie interrupts him, grinning. 'Alright, show of hands, who knew before tonight?' 

Bill, Bev and Mike raise their hand immediately and Ben follows a moment later, looking apologetic. 'In your defense,' Ben says, 'I only knew for sure when we were fourteen.' Richie flips him off, and then everyone realises at more or less the same time that Eddie has not raised his hand, whose ears turn bright red when five pairs of eyes turn to him simultaneously. 

‘_ You _ didn’t know?’ Richie asks, at the same time as Bill goes ‘That’s- _ Really? _’

‘I, uh,’ Eddie shifts nervously in his seat. ‘I wondered, sometimes, but… Look, I was a _ very _sheltered kid.’ 

‘You can say that again.’ Bev murmurs and Ben chokes on a laugh he tries to hold in. Richie feels like, well, not exactly like he’s the butt of a joke, but there’s certainly something there that’s been the topic of frequent conversation, and when he raises an eyebrow about it to Bev, she shrugs helplessly, like she doesn’t even know where she’d begin explaining it to him. 

‘When did you know?’ Eddie asks and when he turns back, Eddie is leaning towards him, voice a little more quiet than before. 

‘Eleven, I think.’ Richie says. ‘Maybe earlier, but it took me a while before-‘ _ Before I knew it was boys in general, and not just you _. ‘Before I knew for sure.’ 

‘And after Derry?’ Eddie is looking at him so intently that Richie almost manages to forget they’re at a table with four other people. ‘Were you…?‘

‘Out? No. In fact, I think this might be the first time I’ve said it, to anyone.’ It’s kind of strange, how little difference it makes. 

‘I’m glad you told us.’ Eddie says, softly, before his eyes flit up to the rest of the Losers and he sits back again. ‘Could have done without the desecration of the memory of my mother, but I’ve learned to pick my battles when it comes to you.’ 

‘That’s very mature of you, Eddie.’ Richie says, solemnly. ‘Not as mature as the things I used to do with your mother, but close.’ 

The table erupts in laughter and Eddie throws an olive at him that hits him square between the eyes, setting everyone off again. During the rest of the evening, the atmosphere is light and fun, only the Losers all signal to them in their own way their appreciation. Ben puts a hand on his shoulder with a light squeeze every time he passes Richie and Bev keeps knocking against him, keeping contact for a little longer than strictly necessary. As Richie sees Eddie, not for the first time that evening, giving him a careful glance from the corner of his eyes, a speculative look on his face, he turns to avoid going red and walks straight into Mike’s outstretched arms. 

‘Oof.’ Richie says, when his breath is knocked out of him by the most firm hug he’s ever been on the receiving end of. 

‘I meant what I said.’ Mike says in an undertone against Richie’s collar. ‘I think you’re incredibly brave.’

‘Oh god,’ Richie says, desperately. ‘Beep, beep. Please let me go before I start crying.’

It’s meant as a joke, but there’s a truly humiliating crack in his voice. Mike releases him and boops him on the nose once before sitting down with Eddie. It’s possible that Mike is very drunk and Richie makes his escape to the kitchen in an attempt to follow his example. In the kitchen, Bill is already at the fridge and beckons Richie closer with the bottle in his hand, pouring his glass until the wine almost sloshes over the rim. They clink their glasses together and Richie enjoys the brief silence until Bill gives him an insisting look.

‘It’s him, isn’t it?’ Bill asks him, knowingly. ‘It’s a-always been him.’ 

Richie is tired of denial. It’s been written on his face, clear as day, ever since he was eleven. Even in the time he couldn’t remember Derry, there’s been an Eddie-shaped hole in his heart and the emptiness of it ached every day for 27 years. 

‘Yeah.’ He says. ‘Can’t remember it ever not being him.’ 

‘Stan knew f-first.’ Bill says and Richie isn’t surprised. Stan could be a fussy little asshole, but he was smarter and more insightful than all of them. Sometimes Richie misses him so much it makes him wake up in the middle of the night with a throbbing ache in his chest. 

‘I used to c-complain to him that you two were always f-fighting and one time he said it was a mating r-ritual.’ Bill recounts, looking at his hands. ‘The next time I s-saw you two, Eddie was telling you off about eating p-peanuts around him and you were stuffing them in your face f-faster than you could chew them to keep his attention o-on you and it just clicked.’ 

Richie only vaguely remembers that moment, but he remembers the feeling. Like any lovestruck teenage boy, he’d only known to get Eddie’s attention by pulling his pigtails, but Eddie always went all in, in a way he didn’t do with the other ones. Having Eddie’s full attention on him felt like having a summer sun shining on your face and knowing no one else got to share that experience. Richie takes a big gulp from his glass and sighs. He’s way too old to turn into a romantic, but count on little Eddie Kaspbrak to do the impossible.

Bill gives him a little side hug as Richie stands there, lost in thought, and moves back into the living room. For a moment, Richie is left alone and he rubs his eyes under his glasses. He picks up his glass and rights his shoulders, before putting a smile back on his face and marching back to the others. Alright. Once more unto the breach. 

* * *

Or, whatever, maybe the joke is actually: Man finds a lamp and rubs it. Genie comes out tells him he can have one wish. 

‘At this point, it’s just that I’m a coward, right?’ The man asks. ‘I mean, avoiding taking any chances is also accepting that things will never change. Sure, maybe I tell him and he doesn’t feel the same, but if he does? It would devastate me, if he chose to leave and I wouldn’t wake up anymore, finding out he snuck into bed with me more often than not, having five minutes where I just watch him sleep. It would devastate me, but finding out he felt the same and we could’ve had a life together, if only I hadn’t been such a fucking coward, I don’t know I could recover from that. Can I wish for clarity? I just need a sign.’

‘I’m going to stop you there, my man.’ The genie says. ‘My usual deal is riches and revenge, less of this sentimental whatever. Can you try again, but this time with less feeling?’

The man sighs. ‘Sure, why not. I guess ten million bucks would be nice.’ 

‘You got it, man. Good luck with all that, though, sounds like a tough decision.’ The genie snaps his fingers and when he disappears, there’s nothing left but the gradually louder sound of approaching deer hooves.

* * *

They get home Sunday evening late, and when Richie opens the door, Eddie makes a high noise in his throat and shoulders him out of the way. Their house looks like an antiseptic bomb went off, scrubbing everything in his path. Richie’s going to leave a 100% tip. Then he sees Eddie in the light of the open fridge, running his fingers through the vegetable drawer and resolves to call back the cleaning lady to offer her his firstborn. Since she’s clearly a witch, it should be the sort of thing she goes for. 

‘They folded my laundry!’ Eddie yells from the laundry room he apparently ran to. ‘The fold in this shirt is so sharp I could fucking murder someone with this hoodie!’ 

‘You are a very strange man!’ Richie yells back and puts on the kettle. Every night before bed, Eddie religiously drinks liquorice root tea and although Richie mocked him for it mercilessly at first, he tried it after three days and that shit is _ good _. When Eddie comes back, he’s actually a little giddy and Richie raises an eyebrow at him before pushing a mug in his hands. 

‘I need her to come by every time we’re out of town.’ Eddie declares as he sits down at the kitchen island. ‘I want to pay her in advance so she can promise her children will come clean here too when she retires.’ 

‘She’s 25, dude.’ Richie says mildly as he sits down too. ‘But sure, I’ll call her back. Put her on a recurring schedule. What’s normal, like, three times a year?’

Eddie gives him another one of those speculative glances he’s been sending Richie’s way all weekend and Richie feels himself going a little flustered under Eddie’s undivided attention. His expression softens and for a second, Richie opens his mouth to tell him everything, but at the last moment, he chickens out. 

‘I’m going to bed.’ Comes out instead. He drains the contents of his mug, still a little too hot, in one go and grimaces. ‘See you tomorrow, Spaghetti.’ 

He doesn’t look back as he walks to his bedroom, cursing himself all the way there. 

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Richie’s lying in bed staring at the ceiling. Then, his door opens and Eddie pads into his bedroom on bare feet, already dressed for bed. 'Can I crash here again, tonight? Last two nights were…' He fidgets a little. 'Not great.' 

Richie looks at him, Eddie Kaspbrak in all his flannel clad glory, his compact little body and his big, brave heart. He looks a little unsure and for all Richie has wondered if Eddie feels the same, he’s never put much thought into, if it was the case, why Eddie wouldn’t say so. Maybe Eddie’s afraid too, and maybe Eddie’s doubtful over whether Richie returns his affections. Maybe Eddie has emptied his buckets of courage into his divorce, crossing the country and shouldering his way into Richie’s life and now it’s Richie’s turn to turn to Eddie and offer up his heart for the taking. 

His body moves before his mind does, sitting up at the edge of the bed and reaching for his glasses. Eddie comes into sharper focus and Richie sees the tips of his ears are red. There’s a moment of decision, maybe, but the words come out before he’s fully thought about them. 

'You can crash here any time.' Richie says, honestly. 'But I feel like you should know that I have been in love with you for some thirty odd years and if you're into it, I'd not be opposed to mixing in a makeout session or two in these sleepovers from time to time. In the interest of full disclosure.' 

Eddie's looking at him like he's grown a second head and Richie shrugs. 'I'd be interested in pretty much everything you're willing to put on the table, but this seems like a decent starting point.'

'Are you serious?' Eddie asks, still standing in the doorway. 'If you're fucking with me-' 

'I'm not fucking with you.' Richie says. 'Although, as I said, if it’s on the table.' 

'That's a terrible confession.' Eddie says, and then a smile breaks through on his face. It’s a bright smile, honest and sincere, and Richie loves him the only way he knows how, like breathing. 'Truly, bottom tier confession, zeroes all around.' 

'Hey!' Richie can't help but grin back at him. 'I'll have you know this was a very big moment for me, and you're totally cramping my style.'

'The actual worst part is that you're not even kidding.' 

Richie wants to respond, but at that moment Eddie crosses the room and tackles him down to the bed to kiss him. Their lips mash together uncomfortably for a second, both of them reeling from the force by with Eddie’s flung himself into Richie’s lap, and there’s teeth involved, but then Eddie tilts his face a fraction and oh, _ oh _! A sound emerges from Richie’s throat that’s so needy and fractured that he would die in a corner of mortification, if he wasn’t busy grasping at Eddie’s body in his lap. There’s legs, arms, waist, ass, all warm and solid under his hands and Richie is so overwhelmed with options it’s making him slightly delirious. 

‘I can’t believe I’m this attracted to a man who wears flannel pajamas.’ Richie gasps as Eddie breaks the kiss to lean their foreheads together. Against him, he feels Eddie take a breath that signals the arrival of a Rant (™), probably including wild hand gestures, so he just grabs Eddie’s face with two hands and kisses him again. For a second, it seems like Eddie is going to argue through the kiss, but then he goes soft against Richie as his arms circle his waist to pull him even closer. _ Oh my god _ , Richie thinks, feeling slightly manic and filled with so much joy he’s surprised it’s not bursting out of him like a chest alien. _ I’m going to win so much arguments this way _. 

Then Eddie moans in his mouth and Richie has to squeeze his eyes shut to not come in his pants like a teenager. It’s entirely possible he’s been this hard before in his life, but there’s not enough blood left in his brain to remember if that’s the case. He’s trying to undo the buttons of Eddie’s ridiculous pajamas without having to stop kissing him, which quickly turns out to be impossible. Luckily, Eddie, always the cooperative spirit, breaks the kiss to start mouthing behind his ear. Hands shaking, he finally manages to undo Eddie’s shirt and pushes it down his shoulder to start licking down his collarbone. When he looks down, he freezes and lets himself fall back on the bed, hands covering his eyes. 

‘Jesus fucking Christ, _ Eds _.’ 

‘Don’t call-’ Eddie says, before thinking better of it. ‘What the fuck is your problem?’ 

‘You’re fucking _ jacked _ , dude.’ Richie says, his hand creeping to Eddie’s abdomen, where there are actually _ six _ defined abs under the angry scar on his chest. ‘We’re forty! How the fuck do you look like _ this _?’ 

Eddie seems caught between smiling and groaning. ‘It’s called eating a fucking vegetable, jackass. Now take off your clothes and kiss me.’ 

‘Nuh-uh.’ Richie says, protectively crossing his arms over his midriff. ‘No way I’m taking off my shirt now while you’re lying there like fucking Hercules.’ 

‘Don’t be a little bitch, Richie.’ Eddie pushes him against the sheets with one elbow, trying to get under the hem of his shirt with his other hand, while Richie shrieks and slaps at him. ‘Just let me see your old man body, dude, I swear I’ll still love you after seeing your beer gut.’ 

‘You’re such a sweet talker.’ Richie gasps, and when Eddie ducks down to press his mouth to the skin under his belly button, he shudders. ‘Oh fuck, that’s cheating, do that again.’ 

For once, Eddie manages to tamp down his contrarian nature and sets out a course up Richie’s chest, taking his shirt with him on the way. For a second, Richie fears that Eddie will feel his sweaty, germ-infested body against his lips and make him shower in bleach before he’s allowed back in bed, but then Eddie finds a nipple, bites it and Richie momentarily forgets his own name. He lets his hands roam over Eddie’s hard stomach, strokes them down his hips and gets two handfuls of ass that make him consider converting to whatever religion is responsible for putting 5’9 of wet dream in his lap, provided they’re cool with him doing absolutely nothing but going down on Eddie all day. 

‘I want you to know,’ Richie chokes out, before his brain fully disconnects, ‘it’s okay if you don’t want to-... I’m okay with anything you want.’

There’s a soft, wet mouth on his collarbone and he has to focus, hard, to get the words out. ‘Like, at any point, just-‘

Eddie looks up at him with wide blown pupils. ‘I know that. Do you want to-‘ 

‘Uhh, _ fuck _ yes.’

‘So, are you going to take off my pants at some point, or what?’ Eddie asks, impatient above him, looking red and flustered. Richie takes a second to mentally high five his teenage self, who had not, in his wildest dreams, ever considered the possibility of these words coming out of Eddie Kaspbrak’s mouth and then shoves his entire hand down Eddie’s pajama bottoms to grab his dick. 

‘_Hnnngg_.’ Is Eddie’s response. ‘Jesus fuck, Richie, _fuck._’ Then he’s shoving down his pants and boxers and grabbles at Richie’s, pulling them down just enough to expose his cock, before shifting his hips and dragging their dicks together. 

‘Eddie_ , _ ’ is all Richie can say to that _ . _ ‘ _ Eddie. _’

He tries to kiss him again, but they’re just panting against each other’s mouths, desperately writhing against each other. Eddie’s making little sounds, going _ ah ah ah _ and Richie digs his nails into the bedsheet to keep himself from coming and enduring uncountable hours of shit from Eddie about premature ejaculation.

‘Get-’ Eddie pants, before putting an elbow on the bed to steady himself, crushing his entire body against Richie’s to get create more friction between their sweaty bodies. ‘Get your _ fucking _hands on my dick, or I swear-’ 

‘You _ bossy _ little _ tramp _.’ Richie says, delightedly, because his filter is fucking shot to hell, but he complies and squeezes one handful of ass while his other hand encircles both of their dicks. Eddie arches against him and moans, low and loud as Richie almost full-on cackles, overjoyed as he realises he’s got something here.

‘That doing it for you?’ He hisses against Eddie’s cheek as he trembles helplessly above him. Richie digs his nails into Eddie’s ass and moves his lips against Eddie’s ear. ‘I should’ve known, always teasing me with those short shorts, you slutty minx.’

Eddie shudders and Richie feels his dick twitch in his hand, come splattering on his stomach. He’s so turned on it’s actually making him a little queasy when Eddie lowers himself down against him, buries his sweaty face in Richie’s neck and gasps ‘_ Fuck _, I love you.’

Oh, okay. Apparently emotional intimacy does it for Richie. His eyes roll back into his head and he comes so hard he almost blacks out for a second while clinging to Eddie like a lifeline. Eddie goes boneless on top of him and Richie bites at his shoulder until he’s no longer seeing double and stopped gasping for breath. He likes the idea that tomorrow, there’ll be tangible evidence on Eddie’s body, teeth marks standing out on his pale skin like R+E carved into a bridge. It’s fucking creepy, that’s what it is, but Eddie shivers when Richie’s teeth scrape gently against the place where his neck meets his shoulder, so he does it again. For a moment, they’re both perfectly still against each other, until he feels Eddie smile against his temple.

‘I was thirteen, you weirdo.’ He says fondly and Richie turns his head to look at him. ‘I wasn’t teasing anyone.’

‘Tell that to the Mount Everest of sheets I ruined jacking off every summer, baby.’ Richie answers, as Eddie lowers himself onto his side next to Richie, looking so sweaty and fucked-out it’s making Richie’s dick twitch valiantly. He's forty years old and there's no way he'll be able to get it up again within the next few hours, but Eddie's blown out pupils are making a great argument. ‘I’m pretty sure I chafed my dick thinking about your toothpick legs.’ 

‘Hmm, that’s the stuff.’ Eddie murmurs, lazily kissing Richie’s shoulder. ‘Tell me more about how I drove you crazy with my teenage wiles.’ 

‘Oh, let me count the ways.’ Richie’s mind is reeling with memories. ‘The calculator watch _ alone _. No, wait, the tube socks! I actually remember going absolutely bonkers over you sticking your nasty sock in my face when we were in the hammock in the club house. A few truly uncomfortable afternoons wondering whether I had a foot fetish.’

‘And?’ Eddie probes.

‘Nope, just you.’ Richie says, leaning sideways to kiss him again. ‘There’s not a part of you that doesn’t make me hard enough to cut diamonds.’

‘Jesus, Richie.’ Eddie tries to mold his face into a disapproving expression, but his ears are burning and he can’t look Richie in the eyes. Richie wonders if Eddie has ever seen himself as an object of desire, instead of a small baby bird to be mothered, and resolves to take a few moments tomorrow telling Eddie how much hours he’s spent daydreaming about putting his mouth on Eddie’s dick. He’s got a great story about seeing Eddie stretch in his tighty-whities at the quarry and turning so red Stan asked him if he was having an allergic reaction.

‘Can’t help myself around you, Spaghetti.’ Richie says, turning on his side to softly knock their foreheads together. ‘I don’t remember anything since you’ve been here, because I’ve been walking around in a lustful haze 24/7. I assume you’ve talked to me at some point, but I couldn’t hear you over the sound of all the blood in my body rushing to my dick every time I saw your sweet little face.’ 

‘You’re so annoying.’ Eddie murmurs, ducking his head in an unsuccessful attempt to stop Richie from seeing a blush creep onto his cheeks. ‘I can’t believe I’m so attracted to you.’ 

‘Me neither.’ Richie says, and it’s a little too honest, but it does make Eddie give him a look before kissing him deeply, so maybe he’ll try that again. 

Afterwards, Eddie manages to stay cuddled up to Richie for all of two minutes before bitching about the jizz on his stomach and makes them both take a shower. Richie brushes his teeth, lies back in bed and watches Eddie putter around for his endless nightly routines. Eddie flosses for four full minutes and at the end of it, Richie feels so tremendously fond of him he’s afraid he’ll never be able to make fun of Eddie again. Then he watches Eddie’s pinched expression as he plucks two nose hairs and, well, looks like that’s all sorted. When Eddie slides between the covers, he fluffs up his pillow meticulously before turning on his side and Richie reaches out to lace their fingers together. For a moment, they lie quietly together, curved towards each other like parentheses, the space between them comfortably silent. 

‘You’re it for me, you know that?’ Richie whispers. Eddie doesn’t respond, but he squeezes Richie’s hand encouragingly. ‘Alpha and omega, womb to tomb, all that shit.’ 

When he reaches out to pull Eddie in, he goes with ease, his body slotting against Richie’s instinctively. ‘I missed you even when I didn't remember you.’ 

‘That’s so sappy.’ Eddie mumbles, but Richie can feel him smiling where his face is smushed against Richie’s collarbone. 

‘Yeah.’ Richie agrees, absentmindedly stroking Eddie’s back as he can feel Eddie’s breathing even out. ‘Sure is, Eds.’ 

* * *

Let’s try this one last time. The joke goes like this: Comedian lies in bed lightly dozing while an ex-risk analyst is sitting up, stretching his arms. 

‘I’m gonna make coffee.’ The ex-risk analyst says, rubbing his eyes. ‘You coming too or staying in bed?’

‘I’ll get up too.’ The comedian says through a yawn. ‘Got an important phone call to make.’ 

The ex-risk analyst hums in interest and the comedian follows up in a solemn voice. ‘It’s just that, now that we’re a thing - which I’m very, _ very _happy about, by the way -, I really have to just -’ He braces himself against the pillow that is undoubtedly coming his way in the next few seconds. ‘I gotta call your mom and break it off, Eds. Can’t juggle the both of you and-’ 

He’s cut off by a pillow to the face. ‘Jesus Christ, the woman is dead, Richie, have some fucking respect!’ The ex-risk analyst shrieks at him, but halfway through the sentence he’s already laughing. 

The comedian is cackling so hard he can barely breathe, but he manages to dismantle the next pillow by tackling his attacker to the bed. They wrestle for a while, until the comedian tries to kiss him and the ex-risk analyst commands him to go brush his teeth. Afterwards, they go out for breakfast, bicker as they press their ankles together under the table and call their friends. There’s no punchline. 

**Author's Note:**

> come find me at crescenteluce.tumblr.com


End file.
